


Through It All

by FeathersInTheBasement



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Finding Narnia Again, Fix-It, Post - The Last Battle, Redemption, The Problem of Susan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 07:07:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3200084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeathersInTheBasement/pseuds/FeathersInTheBasement
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Shoot Susan, shoot!” She woke up with a muffled scream, the blanket scrunched beneath her hands and a sob tearing once more from her ravaged throat. She fumbles for the light, and it is not until the switch is turned on  and the room is flooded with the orange glow of her lamp that she can breathe.</p><p>There is no charging bear, no wild terror as her baby sister is hunted down. Edmund is not begging her to save their siblings life.</p><p>There is no life to save. Edmund... Lucy... Peter... they are all lost. There was no dwarf waiting in the wings with an arrow to save them. There was only the pain and loneliness.</p><p>There were no talking beasts. No Narnia at all. There was nothing but the silence.</p><p>She laid back down and curled into a ball. Her arms wrapped around her legs and ached to hold onto someone. Ached for the warmth of her sister or the familiar scent of her brothers.</p><p>She lays there, ignoring the tears staining her cheeks and tries not to remember.</p><p>She does not want to know what she has forgotten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through It All

They had each come. Not just the three, but all seven other ‘Narnians.’ They had each come to her.

It had been years since she had truly thought of Narnia. The memories were hazy now. Faded in the way all child hood memories seemed to fade. She remembered sensations more than actual images. The brush of silk, the warmth of fur, the scent of fresh grass and new flowers. She could hear laughter on the wind and the melody of music that the very ground trembled with.

But only when she closed her eyes and dreamed could she remember such things.

That was all it truly was, wasn’t it? A dream? Narnia had been nothing more than a fancy made by four lonely children in the darkness of war.

Now was not an age for darkness. Now was a time for dancing. For laughter and gaiety and forgetting of war and blood.

Susan never considered why she could remember fallen bodies. Why she could recall the scent of blood and death in the air. She had never been to war.

Yet still they came.

_We promised never to forget Susan._

No longer was she ‘Su’ to her older brother. He could hardly understand. He was brilliant and brave and going to College to be whatever he desired. She wasn’t going to college. She had no use for learning.

Not any longer.

_Don’t you remember Aslan? He needs us._

Her younger sister had stared at her with teary eyes, utterly certain in her conviction. She didn’t understand that there was nothing out there. Belief awarded nothing. You could pray all you wished, nothing ever answered.

The silence had nearly driven her mad when she was younger. She had looked for anything to fill it, and had found that nothing drowned out silence half so well as music.

In her hazy memories, dancing was always clearest. She could remember long looks and curled lips as she glided across the floor. Gazes would follow her wherever she went, and that was powerful feeling.

It was what she had always had.

Peter was always magnificent, noble, and perfect. Lucy always believed. Edmund was clever and just. She was beautiful.

She had sought beauty and attention to tend to the ache. To fight the numbness and loneliness that made no sense. In the admiration of men she had found herself. That was what she longed for, what she needed. Their gazes, their _desire_ , gave her a sense of worth.

She had not been invited to a dinner with the seven of them in ages. Yet still they came.

Eustace and Jill had gone together, and what a strange pair they made. Eustace had stared at her with pale, knowing eyes, and simply said: ‘please.’ Jill had spoken rather a lot more, and called her a few unkind things in her annoyance.

She had clearly spent too much time with boys. Her hair was plain and she wore no makeup, not caring if Eustace stared at her or not. She had no time for Susan’s raised eyebrow or appraising glance. She had stood all the taller and met Susan’s gaze with challenge.

Jill who she had only ever heard of before that night.

Strange that a child should be so sure of herself. Uncaring that she was neither beautiful or grabbing of others attention.

Polly had caught her whiel she shopped. The elderly lady had caught her hand as she spoke. She had mentioned the ‘eternal song.’ _Can’t you feel it?_ She’d asked with desperate eyes. _It’s calling us to him. Narnia is in need of her protectors. Come, my Gentle Queen._

Such silly titles they had given themselves as children. What reason did she have to be gentle? What good did it do one in the world? It made them like Polly. Over fifty and single. A spinster with no one to love her.

 _What did they teach you in school?_ Digory had wondered in obvious disgust. Unaware that Susan had long since stopped paying attention to his tiresome pleas. She had no reason to listen to him. He could seek out Peter. They were always such friends. She'd had no need for cleverness or wit. They were not expected of her, and not wanted.

Edmund came last.

“We’re leaving today.” He’d gotten hold of her hair brush. She’d watched him enter the room silently, his eyes scanning the walls, utterly unreadable. He’d wandered towards her, almost aimlessly and ever silent. His fingers trailed along the oak trim of her boudoir until they came to a rest on the edge of her silver hairbrush. He lifted it up and turned it over in his hands, a distant look in his brown eyes.

“You mean your going to the professors old house.” Why they all pretended it was something else was beyond her. She had stopped playing such games.

“As I said. We’re leaving. Sure you will not come with us? We shall miss you terribly?”

And was that not a laugh? They had not missed her. They had never missed her. The three of them had always worked much better without her. She had _never_ truly fit in with them. She would not play their games, and had found no place with them.

“I have said I would not go.” Then Edmund had sighed softly. A sound that seemed to come from the depths of his soul. It was far too old a sound for him to make. It spoke of pain and knowledge well beyond his young years.

It sounded familiar, and made her heart squeeze painfully for a horrible moment.

“You will not aid Narnia in her need?”

Anger flared quick, pushing away the strange shame the sigh had stirred in her chest. Anger, hot and intense. Anger she had forgotten about. They were stupid, all of them. She had spent her life in the shadow of them. Golden Peter and his honor, Laughing Lucy and her unwavering belief. Brilliant Edmund and his wisdom. They had always thought themselves so much better than her. Them and their ridiculous world. “Whenever will you all grow up?” She snapped the words as harshly as she could. She wanted to hurt him. To make him ache for her acceptance as she had always ached for theirs.

Edmund lifted his gaze until it met hers. Her breath caught in her throat at the look in them. “Su? Perhaps you should stop trying to be grown up. It’s childish to worry about one’s age.” He took a step back, depositing the hairbrush back on her boudoir. “Enjoy your date, though I do wish you could be content alone. You don't need them.”

And with those ridiculous words he had strode away.

* * *

 

The funeral was quick, and she could not remember how she came to stand at it. She stared at the graves-Nine-at a loss. She wandered back to her house with aid of an Aunt-Eustace’s mum? She couldn’t remember-and wandered to her room. The house was achingly empty, her own now. There were no parents to own it, and no siblings to share it with.

Her room was as bright as ever. The pink flowers from her previous date still fully bloomed and beautiful.

She went into her room and shut the door without really knowing that she did so. She pulled off her black hat and slipped off her black shoes. The wood of the floor was cool beneath her stockings.

She went to the boudoir, her eyes locked on her reflection. Her lipstick was red, her eyelashes painted black. Her hair was perfectly arranged, and she looked as beautiful as ever.

She did not recognize herself. She did not know the brown eyes staring back at her.

Her hands drop to the boudoir, intending to brace herself so that she might lean in for a closer look, but her fingers fell on something cool. A glance down revealed it to be the silver handle of a hairbrush, and her breath caught. She picked it up, turning it in her hand, remembering the sound of Edmund’s sigh.

Susan fell to her knees and wept, the hairbrush pressed against her chest. She wept harsh, bitter sobs that tear at her throat and leave her utterly ragged. She wept until her eyes burned from tears and her chest ached. She sobbed until there was no air left in her.

She sobbed until she passed out.

She awoke, hours, days, or years later… She could not tell, and did not wish to. The pain in her chest was intense, a physical ache of such harsh sobs, and a purely emotional ache of loss and despair.

There was no blissful moment of unawareness. No place between sleep and awake. No place without memories.

* * *

 

“Shoot Susan, _shoot!_ ” She woke up with a muffled scream, the blanket scrunched beneath her hands and a sob tearing once more from her ravaged throat. She fumbled for the light, and it was not until the switch was turned and the room was flooded with the orange glow of her lamp that she could breathe.

There was no charging bear, no wild terror as her baby sister was hunted down. Edmund was not begging her to save their siblings life.

There was no life to save. Edmund, Lucy, Peter, they were all lost. There was no dwarf waiting in the wings with an arrow to save them. There was only the pain and loneliness.

There were no talking beasts. No Narnia at all. There was nothing but the silence.

She laid back down and curled into a ball. Her arms wrapped around her legs and ached to hold onto someone. Ached for the warmth of her sister or the familiar scent of her brothers.

She lays there, ignoring the tears staining her cheeks and tries not to remember.

She does not want to know what she has forgotten.

* * *

 

The dream was always the same adventure. She never remembered the first trip, only ever the second.

_You get treated like a dumb animal long enough, that’s what you become._

_Shoot Susan, Shoot!_

Those are the only words ever spoken.

She stared at herself endlessly in the mirror, and wondered when she became what she saw. When she became the stranger in the mirror. When she became the girl who was so desperate to fit in. So desperate for the approval of man. When she became a girl who forgot that she was a Narnian woman, a Queen! That she was made for grand things, such grand things.

She wondered when she had become a dumb beast.

* * *

 

There was nothing truly left of the tree, or remnants of the rings that they had taken on the train. Susan had looked.

Still, she sat in front of the stump and closed her eyes. The wind would whistle through the air and wrap around her and for a moment, she could almost imagine she was somewhere else.

“Oh Peter, I’m so cold.” She whispered, lost and scared. “Lu, I can’t see him-or anyone. Ed... I don’t know who I am anymore.”

Had she ever truly known? She believed she had once. Once when she stood in Cair Paravel with hair to the floor, beautiful and certain. Her bow steady in her hand, ready to defend the people she loved. Confident in herself and heart.

“I’m so lost.”

“Perhaps you should find a map.” She recognized the teasing tone at once. It had irritated her countless times through her life. Always ready for a battle of wits. Annoying in the way that only siblings were truly able to achieve.

The memory of that adventure, of Peter’s rude comment and Lucy’s brilliant reply made her croak. Whether it was a laugh or cry, she wasn’t certain.

“Oh _Ed,”_ she nearly whimpered. It was so familiar, his voice. “I’m sorry. So very sorry. I listened to fears again. I’ve been horrible.”

“Not so horrible as I was, if you recall.” Her eyes slipped open, tears streaming down her cheeks. Edmund was in front of her, as young as he had been when they’d first met Caspian. His brown eyes were locked on her, seeing nothing else.

“I _betrayed_ you. I betrayed Aslan.” She shook her head, tears still streaming from her eyes. She seemed to always be crying now.

“And now?”

“I-I’m trying my best.” She had. She’d applied for college, uncertain of her way forward. She was monetarily set, as there was no other heir for her parents or Digory. Even Polly had left her money to Susan’s family.

“That’s the secret of it, Su.” Edmund’s voice echoed in her head, a trace of laughter in his voice as he shook his raven head. Always so clever, her Edmund. Always able to see the best of her. “You’ve got to be better than your best.” The laughter ebbed away to be replaced with heart breaking sincerity. Understanding was in those brown eyes. Eyes that were a shade darker, and always wiser than her own. “That’s the only way for traitors to make amends. They must always strive to be better than themselves.”

“I have tried, Edmund. Oh have I tried.”

He stepped closer and the empathy in his gaze would surely undo her. The soft hand on her shoulder was too much. The warmth was too much.

“That’s the problem of it, Su. _You_ have tried. We can’t do it on our own, sister. We must bow at the paws of the mighty Lion, and ask for his aid. It’s far too heavy a weight to bear on our own.” His forehead pressed against her own, and the warmth of it made her sob anew. “As Lucy always said, we have to seek him.”

She woke up with her cheek against the grass. Alone once more, but no longer lonely.

No, she was now determined.

* * *

"Through it all, my eyes are on you."

She sang quietly as she walked. She always seemed to sing. She was beautiful in a other worldly way. An angel in the darkness of the hospital. She had a straight back and the light of knowledge and confident in her gentle gaze.

Strange that such confidence could be described as gentle. Yet that is what she was. Susan the night nurse was gentle. An angel to the bleakness of war and death. She knew who she was in the dreary world, and had no fear for herself. She would stop to smell a flower, offer a kind word to a scared patient, and hold the hand of a dying man. She knew the darkness of the world, but continued to greet it with compassion and tenderness.

"Hello Fred," Her voice lilted gracefully as she strode into the room they'd put him. He'd not live to the end of the week, according to the doctors.

What a strange thing to be aware of. To know when others expected you to die. It did not feel real. It did not feel as if his body-what he could feel of it-would fail him so soon.

Yet he understood in his soul that he was fading. "Hello, Susan." The words were difficult in his throat, and sounded rough on the air. They draw Susan's gaze, tender with care. She pulled the curtain aside, letting the star light into the room. That reminded him of his home in the country. He used to sleep under the stars in his back yard. The world would stretch endlessly above him, full of possibility. She knew that, and did it to ease him.

"And how are you?"

"I was bored until you came." She smiled at the flirting smile he sent her, and the room seemed brighter with her presence and the peace in her eyes.

"Indeed?" She sat at the edge of his bed, her hair brown with red streaks in the starlight. She looked more like an angel than ever before. "What can I do to make sure the boredom stays at bay?"

The pain was starting to rear its head again. The drugs they give him were good, but you could only do so much against two lost limbs. Susan would fetch him more medicine, but he would rather keep his wits. He wants to remember. "Tell me a story, dear."

Her smiles grows wider and her eyes drift to the window. Her hand moved to stroke the pendant at her neck, a bronze lion. "A story? A fairy tale perhaps?" He nodded his head, talking would be too much. Susan's head turned to look at him again, her eyes locking with his.

 She took his hand. "There were four children, two brothers and two sisters..."

**Author's Note:**

> This came to me when I was listening to the song 'It is Well' by Bethel Music and it would not leave me alone. I've always ached for poor Susan who lost herself in a desire to get approval. I firmly believe she found herself again after the death of the others.


End file.
